The Silence Has Been Broken
by The Dragon of Winterfell
Summary: The Dragonborn is sent on a seemingly impossible mission: She must unite the Seven Kingdoms so that they might stand a chance against the Others. On her journey through Westeros she shall meet betrayal and intrigue and see that the Seven Kingdoms is unlike any place she has ever been before. Post ADWD. Rated T for violence and distress.
1. Nastja I

The Silence Has Been Broken

Chapter I: The Darkness

_First Day of Winter_

Nastja Silverwood

"Paarthurnax, why have you summoned me?" she asked, wary.

Nastja Silverwood was standing at the top of the Throat of the World, the highest mountain in the entire known world. It was the highest point a human could reach, but she had been higher. After all, being Dragonborn had its perks.

She had been trading at the markets in Whiterun when the echoing Thu'um had been heard. Nastja knew that it had been Paarthurnax summoning her; it was his own Shout. She had been filled with curiosity on the long trek up the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax rarely left his mountain; he even trained other dragons there. So it had been most curious that when Nastja had gone to visit him a month prior to the summoning, he was not there. She had been filled with a dread that Esbern and Delphine had succeeded in having him slain. But here he was; whole, and very much alive.

The ancient dragon bowed his head.

"Regrets, Dovahkiin. There is a matter that I need your help with. I have watched the situation for a long time, but _Nii Los Tiid_. It is time."

He spoke in a tone of concern, one he had only used when speaking of…

"Is it Alduin?" she asked, doubtfully. She knew that the World Eater was long gone, killed by Nastja herself, but remnants of his army still remained.

Paarthurnax shook his great head. "_Niid_, no. This is _Westersaan._"

She was now fluent in the Dragon Tongue, but she had not heard this word before.

"_Krosis_, master. I do not know that word," she said apologetically.

"That does not surprise me. Few remember it. It means Westeros."

That word she did know.

"Westeros? But Master –"

Paarthurnax cut her off. "I am aware of the facts. _Lingrah vod,_ long ago Tamriel and Westeros lived in harmony. But then the Targaryen King of _Westersaan_ declared war on his oldest ally, and started a war he could not hope to win. _Ahrk Ful Westersaan Drey Aus Fall Ahzid Bah Se Taazokaan."_

Nastja didn't need Paarthurnax to translate. _And so Westeros did suffer the bitter wrath of Tamriel_. It was the last line from a famous poem about the Fool's War. Nastja was well enough educated – she knew the history just as most did. Around one hundred and twenty years ago, one of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros had been greedy and sought to conquer Tamriel. But Tamriel was so much larger than Westeros, and so won the war within months with numbers, skill…and mages. It was no secret that the Westerosi only wielded magic because those of Tamriel had given them both the ability and training to use it. But the student rarely surpasses the master, and the Westerosi did not have half the capability with magic as those of Tamriel.

The Fool's War severed the connection between Tamriel and Westeros. Tamriel had won the war; the Emperor could have ruled over Westeros. But instead, the Emperor and his Council decided to cut Tamriel off. No contact was to be made between the continents. In the eyes of the Emperor and his Council, Westeros had betrayed those who had always assisted them. All trading between the two continents ceased. There was no contact with Essos either; some of the Free Cities had aided Westeros in the war, and so Essos too was branded a traitor's land. Westerosi immigrants suffered the worst of all; their lands were burned, they themselves viciously hunted. The immigrants that could afford it sailed back to Westeros, and those who could not either stuck out their bleak lives until they were killed or ended their own lives. Any person of Tamriel that went to Westeros was marked a traitor and would be hanged if they ever returned. Many families were torn apart as their loved ones were forced to sail across The Sunset Sea, and so it was a disheartening time for most.

Westeros suffered greatly; they had relied heavily on Tamriel for numerous traded goods, such as food, good steel, orisinum and many other important things. Tamriel received most of its goods from its own provinces, so it was at no loss. For years after the War, thousands of smugglers had attempted to sail to Westeros and trade illegally, but it was a long and perilous journey, and few made it to Westeros, even fewer came back. In time, Westeros began to receive more traded goods from Essos and its own lands.

There were still some toughened sailors who had gone to Westeros and returned, and they brought numerous goods. They were sold for high prices, and the sailors spent a moon's turn or so living in a large manse before the Empire's soldiers came knocking on their door, to hang them for their treason. Nastja herself had bought a ring from an aged Nord who had once sailed to the North of Westeros; a black iron ring with curios runes and markings on it. Though she could feel a magic presence about it, all the enchanters that she had taken it to had insisted that it was not enchanted. Nastja had worn it for nigh on a decade and never taken it off, nor did she plan to. That ring had brought her good luck.

For decades, the people of Tamriel protested that it was ridiculous to cut Westeros off. But the Emperor claimed that as he had been good friends with the Targaryen King, he felt it was a personal betrayal and would not be swayed. All the Emperors since had had the same view.

Westeros was not something that crossed Nastja's mind often. It was something that men and women were known to mutter about when they'd had a tankard too many. It was something that had happened long before Nas' time. It was ancient history. What could Paarthurnax possibly…?

"Master," she said carefully, "what of Westeros?"

If Paarthurnax had been a human, Nas thought, he would have shifted uneasily. Instead, he flicked his great tail and seemed to sigh.

"I have been watching it. I have ventured into lands forgotten, seen things that I thought mere myths. And I have grave news."

Uneasiness stirred in Nas's stomach. Paarthurnax remained calm in the face of death…what could disquiet _him_?

"What is it?" she demanded.

Paarthurnax bowed his head again.

"Darkness is coming. It will sweep over Westeros, and destroy all in its path. It is black magic, as old as Tamriel. As old as the skies and the seas. With it, come evil creatures. The Others…and worse…" he trailed off.

Nas sucked in her breath. Old magic and evil creatures she knew much of, but she knew nought of black magic. Some believed that necromancy was black magic, but it was not so. Black magic would descend upon Westeros and kill everything in its path. And Paarthurnax needed aid.

The greatest battle of her young life had been with Alduin the World-Eater…she could fight dragons. She could fight men; she had fought men brave and cowardly, greedy and selfless, scheming and simple and all she had bested. She could fight beasts, from Chaurus to Giants. She could fight Daedra; she had beaten both Sheogorath and Mehrunes Dagon. She had fought countless types of magic too. Nastja was not big-headed, but she knew that she was one of the greatest warriors and one of the most powerful mages of Tamriel. She had outsmarted and killed beggars and Emperors alike. She did not doubt that she could beat any enemy…but ancient black magic was something she knew little of.

Why must Paarthurnax always ask her to do these things? He was a powerful dragon; surely he could vanquish these foes himself. But no, it was always left to Nastja. She was beginning to resent him for this; she had spent much of her time recently doing his bidding. She had places to see, drinks to drink, songs to sing. She could not spend all of her life venturing into icy caves in Skyrim to kill dragons.

"Master," she said angrily, "what do you expect _me_ to do? Is black magic like that of old magic, of the Thu'um? Can black magic be fought?"

Old magic…that she knew much of. She knew every Shout that could be known, she had mastered the Thu'um. She could speak the ancient tongue of dragons. She simply hoped that black magic was similar to old magic.

Paarthurnax's huge eyes bored into her. They were the colour of the sea in a storm, and she read regret in them.

"Black magic is powerful. Very powerful," he said gravely. "But it can be stopped. Those it seeks to hurt can be protected. With your help. With the help of the _Dovahkiin. _I beg of you, _Dovahkiin_, do what is right. Do what must be done._"_

In that moment, she knew that she had to choose. Paarthurnax was allowing it to be her choice. Her anger faded away. She was being too hard on the old dragon. She was Dragonborn, born with the blood of dragons. It was her duty to defend and protect. Paarthurnax was one of the few beings in Nirn who could tell her what to do, and she cursed herself for resenting his authority and questioning her purpose. She had had a problem with those in authority since she was a child, thanks to old Grelod. But Paarthurnax was not trying to control her, to give her orders. He was asking her for her help, asking her to choose. But was it really a choice? Save Westeros from being destroyed or…

"What do I need to do?" she asked him, her voice determined.

"You must journey to Westeros and warn the Westerosi. You must unite the Seven Kingdoms and end the civil war if they are to stand a chance against this. But you cannot protect Westeros alone. You may very well need the help of Tamriel."

Nas was nearly speechless. The task itself was great indeed. She knew many powerful people in Tamriel and did not doubt that she could gain their assistance, but to convince all of Tamriel to assist Westeros? While most of those in Tamriel wished to end the feud with Westeros, many of those in power upheld the old words of the Emperors of old; _He who has betrayed once will do so again, for an honest man does not make mistakes._

"How will I journey to Westeros? How much time do I have? With whom must I speak?" she asked him.

"I know you have a lot of questions," Paarthurnax said. "But _Krosis,_ I know very little. As for reaching Westeros, you will fly by dragon. As you know, I have been made progress in teaching dragons The Way. One of them will take you. When the Darkness will strike…I do not know. Two years, perhaps three. This may seem like a long way away, but I can assure you, the task you have been given will take time, and _Faal Vulom Saaran Fah Niid Gein."_

_The Darkness waits for no one. _Those words sent a chill up her spine, and she knew that they would stay with her forever.

Paarthurnax continued, "As I said, I know little of what is to come. But I do know this; there is an Elder Scroll in Westeros. Find it, and it shall guide you in your quest."

An Elder Scroll. A spark of hope filled Nas; an Elder Scroll would no doubt offer her many of the answers which Paarthurnax did not have.

"Where will I find the Scroll?" she asked Paarthurnax confidently.

Paarthurnax bowed his head yet again, a clear sign of uneasiness.

"I'm afraid that I don't know the exact location of the Scroll. It lies in the Land of Always Winter, but that is all I know. But beware, _Dovahkiin_. Do not seek out the Scroll unless you are truly lost. It is more important to first unite the Seven Kingdoms and gain Tamriel's aid. Only then should you search for the Scroll; it may be time consuming, and we have little enough time as it is."

Nastja nodded in agreement.

"Anastasia…" Paarthurnax began. The use of her full name sent a shiver up her spine; Paarthurnax very rarely called her anything other than _Dovahkiin_.

"I beg of you, remain calm in Westeros. Each shadow hides and enemy, and you must not let your temper get the better of you. You have a kind heart, but you can be aggressive and rash in your fury."

His words stung, but there was a truth to them that Nastja must accept. Her friends often told her merrily that she had "the temper of a dragon" and that was something she had always known, but Paarthurnax's remark about her rashness had been an unforeseen blow. Nastja had always thought that she was intellectual, well-seasoned and a good leader, but think of it she could be rash at times.

"Is there any other advice that you can give me?" she asked.

Paarthurnax's eyes bored into hers, as they so often did.

"No. Just that you must keep watch in Westeros. There are many who would deceive you, and very few who would aid you. You will need to use your wits, and your sword. I merely hope that you are the wise young warrior you have become, and not the foolish, stubborn child you once were."

A/N: For quite a while I've wanted to write a GoT/Skyrim fic. I realise that there is already a crossover, but I think you'll find this one is quite different. In that crossover, the Dovahkiin is instructed by Paarthurnax to teach Daenerys to Shout. Mine, though it begins with the Dovahkiin also being instructed by Paarthurnax, is the story that ASOIAF is building up to anyway: the battle with the Others etc. This is merely my version of events, with the Dragonborn acting as the main protagonist. However, every second or third chapter will be from the point of view of GoT characters and their, reactions so to speak, to the Dragonborn and the Darkness. I hope you enjoyed it; feedback would really be appreciated :)


	2. Nastja IIThe Man Who Waited

Chapter II: An Alliance

_Fifth Day of Winter_

Nastja Silverwood

As a child, Nastja had dreamed of growing magnificent wings and flying away from the dreary, parentless, depressing life that she led. She wished to leave the grey walls of Windhelm, to fly away to some magical land where her troubles would never find her.

She had once told this to Grelod, the woman who ran her orphanage and Grelod had beaten her bloody for it.

"That is nothing more than a child's folly! Where there are swords, there will always be conflict. There is no land of peace and you will never _fly_!" she had screamed at her.

That was the last time that Nastja had ever been as foolish as to blurt out her thoughts. Doing such only earned you an extra beating at Maidenhall Orphanage.

Nastja had hated Grelod, had hated all she had done to her, but in a queer way Grelod had taught her a valuable lesson; dreaming of flying way to a magical land was truly folly. There was no magical land; life was a bitter, depressing thing and you simply had to deal with what you were given. It was a harsh lesson, but in a way in had taught Nas to stop being such a foolish little girl and grown up.

There was that truth to Grelod's words, but she was wrong about one thing; Nastja _would_ fly.

And she was flying now. She rode Bharenax, a dragon studying the Way of the Voice under Paarthurnax's watchful eye. He was taking her to Westeros, though where exactly _in_ Westeros he would take her, she did not know. Nor did she care, for she thought of little when she was flying.

Nastja could hardly breathe as Bharenax swooped gracefully above the clouds themselves, but she did not care. Flying was the most wonderful feeling in the entire world; it felt like freedom.

She loved the great speed at which they were flying. She could not see any land beneath her and she relished the thought that no one could see them either. The wind lapping against her chilled her but the heat of Bharenax's great body beneath her contradicted it.

But more than anything, she loved the danger of flying. Though it was extremely unlikely that Bharenax would lose control, the chance that they may fall both scared and excited her. It called to mind something that Vorstag had once said to her.

_"You only enjoy something if it's dangerous. It's very irresponsible of you, but one of the reasons that I love you."_

It was the last thing he had said to her before…before…

Images of Forsworn burning filled her mind and she heard the scream…the scream that had never left her…

Nastja felt tears coming to her eyes. _I must not cry, _she told herself. The only person that had ever made her cry was Grelod the Kind when she was a child and in the end it was Grelod who cried, for mercy when Nastja, filled with a burning hatred was too big to be beaten.

She shoved both Vorstag and Grelod out of her mind. Thinking of them would only sadden and distract her and she would need to keep her guard up in Westeros.

Nastja could have flown forever, but suddenly she felt Bharenax begin to fly downwards. All too soon, the euphoric feeling she felt from flying was gone. Soon they would land in Westeros, and her mission would begin.

_Sixth Day of Winter_

The Man Who Waited

Doran Martell sat in his solar, right in front of the fire. Twas not for heat that he had lit it; Dorne was the hottest land of the Seven Kingdoms. No, he had lit it for the sole purpose of finding purpose. It was said that the Red Priests of R'holler could look into the flames of a fire and see the future. But all Doran saw was the flames themselves, which would slowly burn up the logs until nothing remained.

It called to mind a poem Doran had heard in his youth.

_Fire burns forever_

_It will turn a beast into a man_

_It will turn a man into a beast_

_It will guide a traveller's way_

_It will burn a farmer's home_

_It will devour secrets_

_It will show us the truth_

_It will offer solace to those who would otherwise fear_

_Fire will heal and it will hurt_

_Fire will create _

_And fire will destroy_

_Fire burns forever, until there is nothing left_

_Nothing at all _

A great sadness took over Doran. He had sent Arianne and Quentyn to the Targaryens and he knew that they were now playing with fire. Would Daenerys take Quentyn as her husband and King, or would she show herself to be as mad as her father and feed him to the flames? Would this apparent Targaryen boy truly be the son of Rhaegar? Or would he be a liar that would kill Arianne if she dare not believe his lies?

His children were in danger and he was powerless to give them help should they need it. Unease had crept upon him like a wild beast when Quentyn had left and with Arianne too gone he knew that he would never feel secure until he knew that both of his children were safe.

Doran hoped beyond all hopes that this Aegon truly was Elia's son. His sister had meant the world to him, as had her children. Elia had been such a strong, brave woman. When she wanted something, she would take it and woe to the poor soul who tried to stop her. But she also had a kind and loving heart, and she did not deserve the death that she received. When he had been told of her rape and murder, and the murder of the babe Aegon and young Rhaenys, he had been filled with an unquenchable rage. He had sworn revenge and he and Oberyn had plotted vengeance for many a year. Oberyn himself had fought Gregor Clegane, Elia's murderer. While The Mountain had killed Oberyn, the Red Viper had poisoned him and the Mountain died soon after Oberyn had.

While the death of Elia's murderer had been a victory for the Martells, it was not true justice for he was not the only one responsible for her death. Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch had murdered Elia and her children, but they had been ordered to do so by Tywin Lannister. His daughter Cersei was greedy and evil, and had intended to have Doran's youngest son murdered. The former King, Robert Baratheon had refused Doran's request to have Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch killed and had been pleased with the deaths of Elia's children, calling them "dragonspawn" because of their Targaryen father.

All of these people were responsible in Doran's eyes and while Tywin and Robert Baratheon were now dead, the Lannisters would one day feel the pain and rage that Doran had all those years ago. The only Lannister that Doran might spare was Tyrion, as the Red Viper himself had trusted him and he seemed to resent his own malicious family. But Tyrion too was lost, another face that Doran would never see again.

Doran was woken from his thoughts when he heard a knock at his door.

The ever-timid voice of Maester Myles spoke up, "My Prince, may I enter? There is a matter we must discuss. It is of the utmost importance."

It must have been, as Maester Myles rarely bothered him when it was unnecessary.

_Oh Gods, _Doran thought. _What if it is news of my children?_

Doran's body froze in anxiety and he began to sweat.

"Enter, Maester," he said in a small voice.

The Master entered. He was six and fifty, quite young compared to most Maesters. He was half Dornish, half a southern man. He had once had the black hair of the Dornish and the pale complexion of the southerners, but over the years his hair had greyed and his skin had tanned and wrinkled and he could almost be mistaken for a Dornishman now. He was skilled and he had served Doran well for many years. Though at this very moment, his face was creased with apprehension which only caused Doran to worry even further.

"Is it news of my children?" Doran asked timidly.

The Maester shook his head and Doran calmed a fraction.

"Thank the Gods. Well, then what is it?" he asked the old man.

The Maester bowed his head. "There is someone come to see you, a young woman. She says that it is a matter of utmost importance and she demanded audience. When I informed her that you were not seeing anyone, she proceeded to harass me. I was still hesitant, but…"

Doran sighed and said gently, "Maester Myles, you have a good heart. I do not doubt that the girl does have something that she believes important but you know that I cannot show my citizens what I have become. If my enemies view me as weak, then they view Dorne as weak. This cannot be. Tell her to see Ser Manfrey, he usually handles these cases."

The Maester shook his head. "Of course my Prince, that is the first thing I did. But when Ser Manfrey saw her, she continued to demand that she see you. She said, and I quote, "Never has there been matter that concerns the Prince of Dorne such as this. I am not some maiden who has been assaulted, or a shopkeeper who has had her goods stolen. I am someone who has a very serious problem. You sir, cannot help me. Only Prince Doran of Sunspear can help me. He must hear what I have to say, he _must_." She made quite the case, my Prince."

Doran clicked his tongue, thinking. The girl clearly thought it was a matter of importance. Something she could not tell Ser Manfrey…what could it possibly be?

"Maester, why do you think her case is different from the others? Why do you think that it is so important that I must risk the safety of Dorne to hear her pleas?" he said. He was not berating the maester; he truly did want to know.

The Maester gave him an odd look and said, "My Prince…she truly _is_ no mere maiden. She wears the oddest of clothing and she carries many weapons. I do not know where she is from as she has the strangest of accents and refuses to tell us her name. Usually, I would assume she was an assassin…but an assassin would surely use their wiles, rather than begging to see you. I would dismiss her as a deluded woman…but I saw the look in her eyes, my Prince, when she stressed her case. She is most certainly…different."

Doran briefly considered seeing her, but this was all too mysterious for him and too dicey a situation to risk the safety of both Dorne and his family. He looked sadly at the Maester.

"I am sorry, Maester Myles. Please tell the girl that I am truly sorry, but that I wish to see no one. And tell her that that is my final answer."

The Master bowed, but Doran saw disappointment in his eyes. _Why should he not be disappointed? I am a craven and an old man, not fit to rule Dorne. I live in fear of my own people seeing me…the sooner that Arianne takes my seat the better._

That night, Doran lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He could not sleep as he continued to worry about his children and the mysterious girl who wished to see him continued to drift into his mind. He regretted not meeting her, but the risk was too great. He had complete faith that Ser Manfrey would handle her situation.

At some point, he began to slowly drift into a restless sleep.

Suddenly, he was woken from his slumber, hearing a loud tapping in his room. He opened his eyes and wished for them to quickly adjust to the dark.

When they finally did, he searched his room. His breath caught when he found the source of the tapping. In his chair in front of the fire, tapping the arm of the chair impatiently with her legs crossed, sat an astonishing young woman.

She had reasonably long hair, which looked to be black. She had quite a plain face, from what Doran could see. She wore the oddest of black clothes which seemed to shine, even in this darkness. But it was not her face, nor her clothing, that shocked him.

At her hip she wore a sheathed longsword. She also wore a belt carrying multiple ornate daggers, which too seemed to glow. Doran could see the head of a bow poking out from behind her back, curved and black as night.

_My Prince…she is no mere maiden. She wears the oddest of clothing and she carries many weapons._

So this was the maiden who wished to see him…Myles had not exaggerated her surprising appearance.

He might have screamed. He might have called for help. He did not doubt that Areo Hotah, who was outside his door, would reach him in time. But he did not feel that he was in danger, for if this girl had been an assassin and had wished him dead, he did not doubt that she already would have done it.

"You do not take no for an answer, it would seem," he said in a voice so calm that it surprised even himself.

The second he had begun to speak, the girl's head had turned to him. She had the most startling eyes; liquid gold which glowed like those of a cat. She rose and strode toward him, stopping a short distance from his bed. Up close, he saw that her hair was not black but in fact a white blonde, not unlike that of the Targaryen's. She had a small, even nose and typical lips. If you stared at her for long enough and studied her face, you would see that it was quite ordinary. However, her skin was flawless and there was something about her that made her striking – most like her eyes - and quite comely indeed.

"I hope I did not startle you, as that was not my intent. But I must speak with you," she said.

He realised that her voice was one of the strangest things about her. She had an odd accent, but that was not all. Her voice was sweet as honey, as sudden as a clap of thunder, as gentle as a lullaby, as serious as Winter and as powerful as that of a King or Queen…all these things at once.

Doran stared at her for a moment and then asked, "Who are you?"

Yet again, her startling eyes met his.

"I am Nastja Silverwood, also known as Nastja the Firetongue. But my name matters little; it is my quest that has sent me here. I hail from Tamriel, and I bring important news for the great lords of Westeros."

Doran sucked in his breath, staggered. _Tamriel_, he thought to himself. _She is of Tamriel_. It explained her appearance and accent…but what was a lady of Tamriel doing in Westeros? Well over a hundred years ago, Aegon the Unworthy had declared war on Tamriel. A brief but bitter war ensued which severed the connection between Tamriel and Westeros and later came to be known as the Fool's War. Numerous Kings after Aegon IV had tried to make amends, but to no avail.

For a moment Doran wondered if Tamriel meant to take Westeros…but that was illogical. Had Tamriel wished to conquer or sack Westeros, they could have done so when they won The Fool's War.

Nastja seemed to mistake his confusion for disbelief, as she reached into her belt and drew out a gold coin. She held it up for his inspection and turned it from side to side; on one was the face of a king and on the other a dragon, which Doran knew was the symbol of the Empire.

"It is a Septim, the currency of Tamriel. Surely this proves that I tell the truth?"

As a child, Doran had been shown coins from all over the world by his Maester, and amongst them there had been a single Septim. It matched the one that Nastja held in her hand perfectly. They were extremely rare; there was a few score kept at the Citadel in Oldtown and some noble Houses might have had a Septim or two but that was all.

Doran simply nodded and asked hesitantly, "What is this "important news" that you bring?"

Silverwood's expression darkened, and she took a deep breath.

"A Darkness is approaching Westeros, also known as The Long Night. However, this is no mere prophecy but a true threat. I was sent by someone who had seen the horrors that Westeros shall soon face. The Others are coming, but they are but a fraction of the danger. Other, darker things come with them, creatures unknown even to I. The only solution is for every lord and lady in Westeros to choose a king or queen and unite the Seven Kingdoms. Once this is done, we may prepare ourselves."

"I am aware that I sound like a crazed street crier, but I swear to you that I what I say is true. I am in a land that I know nothing of and I know that no one shall heed my warnings. You are my only hope and so I ask for your help."

_I am an old, sick man. May the Gods bless this girl if she thinks that I can help her._

She spoke in a way that suggested she did not often beg; this might have amused Doran had he not felt so grave.

_The Long Night approaches_. Doran had of course heard of The Long Night as the priests of R'holler had often preached of it, but it was nothing more than religious nonsense…or so he had thought. Had Nastja Silverwood been anyone else, he might not have believed her. He may have politely declined her request for help and sent her on her way. But Doran Martell looked into her glowing eyes, which looked so focused and desperate and he knew that she was telling the truth. This sudden realisation only sickened him further.

"Why come to me? I am a lord of Westeros, but there are greater lords with more power, swords and money."

Nastja's brow furrowed. "When I came to Westeros, I did not know where I would be taken. It just so happened that I landed in Dorne. As I was told that you ruled Dorne, and so was the most powerful man in Dorne, I knew that I must come to you for assistance. On my journey through Sunspear though, I stopped at many taverns and stores. All of your people have said that you are a just and temperate ruler, that you had faced hardships and overcome them, that you had always made the right choice for Dorne and protected it. I heard many tales of you. I had hoped that you would listen to me and give me the help that I require."

_My people would not sing such sweet songs of me if they knew how weak I truly was, _Doran thought to himself.

"But what _is_ the help you require? Do you wish for me to tell the other lords of Westeros about your quest?" Doran asked her.

Nastja shook her head and said, "I am not asking you tell the other lords of Westeros what I have told you, as they would declare you a madman, nor am I asking you to give me your armies. I am asking you for information. Tell me about those who hold power in Westeros, who I should trust and who I should go to for support. Tell me all that you know about Stannis Baratheon, Euron Greyjoy, Tommen Baratheon and Daenerys Targaryen. I am told that all four of them make claims to the Iron Throne and I cannot journey across the continent and preach unity unless I myself have chosen who should rule the Seven Kingdoms."

Doran thought for a moment. He knew that he could refuse her, but what would come of that? She may go to the Lannisters for help next and that was a stalemate. If he advised her, he could tell her of the evil of the Lannisters and their many plots and schemes. He could tell her of Elia and her children, and though he did not know this strange girl, he somehow knew that she would allow him the vengeance he had sought for so very long. He could tell her all he knew of Daenerys Targaryen, and convince her that she should sit the Iron Throne with Quentyn by her side. He could ensure that Nastja succeeded and that the Lannisters lost the Throne.

"Very well," he said. "I can tell you about all those that you should trust and all those who would betray you in a heartbeat. I will also tell you of those who declare themselves Kings and Queens and you can make your own decision based on what I have told you. Anything that you may need…I will assist you."

For the first time since they had begun speaking, Nastja smiled. It was a charming smile and made her startling beauty even greater.

"I thank you," she said gratefully. She moved towards Doran's desk and sat in one of the chairs surrounding it. "Now, I suggest you get out of bed. I imagine we shall be speaking for some time."


	3. Nastja III

Chapter III: The Screaming Storm

_The Eight Day of Winter_

Nastja Silverwood

Nastja sat at the small desk in her cramped cabin, staring at the dusty old tome. It was a book on Ghiscari, the tongue of Slaver's Bay, which Doran had given her. After all, how was she to meet the rightful Queen of Westeros when she could not speak the tongue of her city?

She was on the _Nightingale_ a small but well-built and swift ship. She had been sailing for nigh on a day, and already was making good time, although the storm had slowed them down a bit. Outside, rain battered against the small ship and the wind howled like a vengeful ghost, swaying the ship back and forth and threatening to tear it apart.

The ship's captain was an aged Dornishman who called himself Ryman Stormrage, and while he did not seem talkative, his crew respected him and Nas thought he seemed amiable. The rest of the crew seemed agreeable enough too. Nas knew none of their names, but they all smiled at her whenever she went up deck, be they potboy, cook, sailor or the Captain himself.

Not for the first time, Nastja thanked the gods that she had landed in Dorne. Doran had told her that while a lot of Dornish women were trained with weapons, a female warrior in any other part of Westeros would either be laughed at or frowned upon. Nastja had been grateful for the Dornishman's help; though she had only spoken with him for a few hours, it had helped her greatly. And after she had reached a decision, he had provided her with safe passage to Volantis, where she would then take ship to Meereen, to find Daenerys Stormborn, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

It had not taken long for Nas to come to a decision. In the end, it was either Daenerys Targaryen, the last descendant of an ancient dynasty that had ruled over Westeros for hundreds of years, or Stannis Baratheon, the lawful heir of the King who usurped the Targaryen's. Nastja had decided on Daenerys for many reasons, but the main one was that Stannis was little loved; Doran had told her that for years he had tried to take the Throne, to no avail. He was a hard, cruel man to hear Doran tell it and the people would never take him as their King. So now Nas was sailing to Volantis, and then Meereen, to speak with the "dragon queen."

Doran's son Quentyn had gone to Meereen to honour a marriage agreement; for Dorne's help in retaking the Throne, Arianne Martell, Doran's daughter, would wed Viserys Targaryen and be his queen. But Viserys had perished, and so now Daenerys and Quentyn must honour the deal.

Doran had told her all he knew of Daenerys, but it was not the girl's past that interested Nas. She had asked Doran of how she had come to be the Queen of Meereen.

"When she was in Astapor, she saw many slaves. Her advisors had told her buy a slave army, but she was opposed slavery and disliked what she saw. She bought a very large slave army, though I do not know how as she had little enough gold after her late husband's _khalasar_ left her, and then freed them. She instructed her new army to kill all slave masters and free any slaves. Astapor was sacked. Daenery's then moved on to Yunkai, and though she did her damage there, freeing slaves and slaying slavers, she did not take nor sack the city. She then moved onto Meereen. I believe she meant to take ship in Meereen, as by this time she had hundreds of thousands warriors, including her Unsullied warriors, her Dothraki, her freed slaves and a few sellsword companies, if the tales are true. However, when she took Meereen her people were starving and she needed to stay there to feed them. Unfortunately though, all of Meereen's ships left upon her arrival. Ever since taking Meereen, she has stayed there, biding her time to find some way to leave. But Yunkai have since gathered a large army, and they mean to make her pay for ending their slave trade. I am sure much and more has happened in Meereen since that has not reached my ears, but I'm afraid that is all I can give you, Nastja."

It was more than enough. If it was ships that Daenerys needed, Nas could help her. Nas's plan was to find Daenerys Targaryen and tell her of her quest. She would purchase ships, serve as an envoy, anything she needed to do to help the young Queen take her Throne. Nastja had already realised that she didn't have time for a war; Winter had already come, and that meant that it was just a short amount of time before the Darkness came. They had about two years, and a war could take much longer than that. Nastja's plan was to arrive in Westeros two months before Daenerys. She would speak to each great lord of Westeros and convince as many of them as she could to support Daenerys. Then, when the time came, Daenerys would arrive in Westeros with her army and perhaps a new King, Quentyn.

Nastja was not a fool; she knew that there would be those who would oppose Daenerys. They would fight those battles when they arose though, and as long as most of Westeros supported Daenery's claim, Nastja had faith that no real war would ensue. Doran had doubted that she could convince many of them to support a queen they had never met, but he did not know Nastja. She was nothing if not convincing.

Doran had heard her plan, and in the end he had said, "You are a wise and valiant young woman, Nastja. If anyone can succeed in this mission, it is you. I shall not lie to you; this shall not be an easy path. I applaud you for attempting this task, though I do not understand your reasoning. Know that Dorne stands behind you, ready and waiting. May the Seven guide you."

Doran Martell truly was a worthy lord. He was dutiful, brave and realistic though he was perhaps a bit too cautious. He had assisted Nastja without pause and for that she would be forever grateful. There was only one boon he had asked of her.

"My son, Quentyn. Whether or not Daenerys takes him as her King, please see that he is protected. He is but a boy truly, and I would not see him harmed."

Nas had sworn to see that Quentyn was well looked after and protected, and after she had Doran had seemed to calm a little.

Nas hoped that the voyage would not take long; she was already feeling quite restless. While she enjoyed sailing, she could not abide being out at sea for too long. There was too little to do, and the storm had even kept her hold up inside; Nastja the kind of person who loved exploring and nature, and the inside of a cabin was a dull affair for her, especially since she was alone.

She didn't have to be. After she and Paarthurnax had spoken, she had travelled to Whiterun to speak with Jenassa.

"Tell no one that I have gone to Westeros; I may be a hero in some eyes, but the Empire has strict laws about Westeros. I cleared the blighted Legion from Skyrim; let's not give them another reason to despise me. I'm barely tolerated by the guards in Cyrodiil; you know that I can never stay there long."

Jenassa had nodded knowingly and said, "I will tell people that we are adventuring across Tamriel again, it shouldn't come as a surprise."

It had been hard for Nas to say, but it had to be done. "No. You are not coming."

Jenassa's eyes had widened and she had stared in disbelief at Nas. "Surely you are not serious? Why wouldn't I come?"

"Because I know nothing of Westeros. It's too dangerous to risk your safety, and it would be better if I went alone."

Jenassa had turned red and said defiantly, "That's not a reason! We have done many things, gone to many places despite knowing nothing. Our daily lives, everything we do…it's all dangerous! Besides, I am a Blade now, or had you forgotten?"

Nas had taken a deep breath and said, "Asa, it's not that simple. This is different. I'm not saying you can't look after yourself, I know that you can. But this is something that I must do alone."

Jenassa had given her a cold look and said, "The last time you "had to do something alone", we all nearly died and it meant Vorstag's _life_."

Nas's anger had shown itself and she said harshly, "Don't you dare speak to me as if I'm a foolish child! I know what happened there, and I know it was my fault. Do you think a _day_ goes by that I don't think of it? Never, _never_ speak of that to me Jenassa, or I promise you, you will regret it."

It wasn't a real threat; Jenassa knew that Nastja would never hurt her. But it had gotten her message across. It shamed Nas to remember it; she did not often become truly angry, but whenever she did, she always said or did something that she would later regret. The anger would build up inside her and then she would lash out and woe to the person who had the misfortune to be standing next to her. But Jenassa should have known not to speak of Vorstag's death; it had been one of the biggest mistakes of Nas's life, and she had never forgiven herself for it.

She and Jenassa had glared at one another over beef stew and ale at their small table at the inn before Nas rose and said, "It is time for me to go."

Jenassa had risen suddenly and said, "I will tell people that you are adventuring. But…surely you would have me tell the others?"

Nas knew who Jenassa meant by the others. She meant the Blades, the Brotherhood, Ulfric, the Thieves…all those that Nastja was close to, that she trusted.

Nas had closed her eyes, whether from regret or the ale she did not know, and said, "No. This news cannot be spread. I trust them, but any one of them could tell someone when they're in their cups. No, it is far too risky. I can tell only you, Asa." _And there is much and more that even you do not know, _Nas thought sadly to herself.

Jenassa had simply nodded. As Nastja had turned to leave, Jenassa embraced her.

"Be careful," she had whispered. Nas had pulled away and nodded, smiling sadly.

_You may never see her again, _Nas thought to herself. _This strange land and its war may destroy you, and all those you love will never know. They will think you died a bravo's death, at the hands of some beast in the wilds of Elseweyr, not in some foreign land that never even crossed their minds. And who would ever know, for Jenassa would carry the secret to her grave. You will be forgotten. They always are. _

She tried to focus on the book on Ghiscari, repeating basic phrases and words, but it was fruitless. _Trying to learn this bastard tongue is pointless,_ she thought to herself. If all went well, she would not be in Slaver's Bay for very long and so she didn't need the blighted tongue.

Nas had not slept since she had arrived in Westeros. The first night on the ship she had lain awake and thought and planned and thought and planned. Nas could never sleep aboard a moving ship, it was too unsure. Captain Ryman had decided to stop for the nonce, as he had informed her some hours ago, and they were presently anchored somewhere off the coast of the Disputed Lands. They were still, and Nastja might finally get some sleep.

Yawning, she stood up from the desk and shuffled over to the bed roll on her floor. She did not take of her Nightingale armour, or weapons. _The crew may seem friendly enough, but better I sleep uncomfortably and wake with aches and pains than not wake at all. _She had worn her Nightingale armour to Westeros; she might have worn her Ebony, Daedric or Dragonbone, but she did not know how female warriors were treated in the strange land. Her Nightingale armour appeared to most as an odd form of clothing, and it was much more comfortable than the Daedric, but it was both reinforced and enchanted and offered more protection than steel.

Curling up, she thought of her large, soft bed at home. Most nights, she would settle down with one of her friends in front of the fire, talking, drinking and eating before she eventually retired to bed. The food she was served on the _Nightingale_ was too a disappointment; hard bread and salt beef. _A bit of hard bread never hurt anyone. The Nine know it was a feast for me for many years._ Nas was merely thankful that the Westerosi, and those of Essos, did not feast upon strange animals, or the Nine forbid, human flesh. She fell asleep, thinking of Honningbrew mead and Elseweyr fondue.

It was just a few short hours later that Nas was woken by a scream. Her eyes shot open and she searched her small cabin, which was exactly as she had left it. She might have dismissed it as a nightmare, when she heard it again. She sat up, expecting to hear more cries, but a menacing silence followed. It seemed as if the storm itself had stopped.

Whipping open her small wooden door, she entered the hallway. It was more a broom cupboard than a hallway, as it was the only entrance to her cabin. But wherever the scream had come from, be it deck or the other quarters, Nas must face the deck to reach it. Running up the creaky wooden steps at the end of the hall, she shoved open the door to the deck.

Nastja was immediately slapped in the face by wind and rain. The rain continued to lash painfully against her face, and she could barely see a step in front of her. The wind howled, sending the boat rocking back and forth across the crashing waves of the sea. Nas may not have been able to see very well, but she saw that the wheel was unmanned. _Where is the Captain?! He should be up here, or we'll be torn apart. _But no one was on the deck.

Fighting the wind, Nas shuffled slowly towards the door to the other quarters. The scream must have come from there. _Whatever it is, it has stopped now. Perhaps one of the potboys was scared of the storm. Whoever or whatever happened, they will have fixed it themselves. _But she pressed ever on.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she heard the scream again. It was coming from the deck, and from close to Nas too, as it was incredibly loud. It cut through the wind, the rain, the crashing of the waves, through the storm itself. For one bizarre moment, Nas thought that the storm had suddenly stopped, when a crack of thunder set it to raging again.

Searching for the source of the scream, Nas saw someone, something. A woman's shape stood at the bow of the ship, leaning dangerously over the edge. Nas saw long black hair, and heard the deathly scream again. _Why is she out here, in the storm? Why is she leaning over? Something is wrong here, something is very wrong._

Nas should have turned. She should have run back to her cabin, locked the door and tried to sleep. But she didn't. She called out.

"Hey! You! Come away from there, you'll fall into the sea!" she screamed at the shape. But the figure didn't move, instead it just stood where it was.

Though the wind seemed set on pushing her back, Nas struggled forward, trying to reach the figure.

It was then that it happened. The figure turned slowly, deliberately. It looked like a woman…until Nas saw its face. Burning red eyes and a black scaled face stared back at her. It raised a hand and pointed at Nas. And screamed.

The storm stopped. For one glorious moment, it really stopped. The wind and rain seemed to disappear, and the sea itself seemed to freeze. And as soon as it had stopped, it came back again.

As the creature's scream ended, the storm returned, but harder and stronger than before. The wind lifted Nastja into the air, sending her body flying into the deep black sea.

Within moments, the menacing waters had swallowed her.

_A/N:_ Once again, thank you all for the reviews. Be they critical or a compliment, they are taken seriously. In fact, I have updated the previous two chapters, so if you have the time, I would suggest checking those chapters out, as quite a few things have changed. Also, I am very sorry for the delay. It's the time of year for school tests - I'm rather busy. That said, the next chapter should be up in a few days (And I mean it this time). As always, feel free to review, it is much appreciated.


	4. Varys I (The Whisperer)

The Whisperer

As the small ship sailed slowly away, rocking ever so slightly on the water, Varys walked to the stern and gazed across the midnight waters of Blackwater Bay and over at Kings Landing. A city of Kings and beggars, of palaces and hovels. And sometimes it was the beggar in the palace, and the King in the hovel.

When Varys had first come to the city, it had been ruled by a madman. _King Scab, _Varys remembered. Varys had come from across the Narrow Sea to service him, to whisper in his ear and tell him shocking truths…and dreadful lies. _That one was already losing his wits...maybe I fed him a lie too many, and pushed him further, yes...but I was not the only one. Nor did I know how far he would go. One can never judge a King's manner, or presume to know what he may or may not do._

He had served three kings in his life; Aerys II, Robert I and Joffrey I.

Aerys had been troubled, and deeply so. He would spend his days cutting himself on the Throne and wailing about all the treacheries he had known, half of them imagined. He would spend his nights in bed, staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open, trying to determine who would "betray" him next. And in the later years, he would spend his days burning the innocent and his nights torturing and tormenting his poor, sorrowful wife. His downfall was gradual, and to be expected…but not his end. No, never his end.

_How could even I have foreseen that? Killed by the very man who swore to protect him, as his former Hand sacked and burned and raped in his precious city. _

There was no memory that Varys possessed, save his cutting, that had stuck in his mind for quite so long and quite so clearly as Aerys' last words, those three simple words which he had repeated for hours, which might have meant the deaths of far too many innocents; _Burn them all._

__And then had come Robert. In the beginning, he had showed promise. He was restless but dutiful in meetings, and held court once in a while. He was a young man; it was not unusual that he would miss meetings to hunt and whore on occasion. But gradually, Robert hunted and whored and drank more and more often, and he grew fat and lazy. It was an odd occurrence if he ever attended small council meetings, and only if it suited him. The realm was at peace then…and in very much debt.

Robert was fond of tourneys, and loved to give a large purse full of gold dragons to the winner of each individual "game", as he would call them. He was also fond of feasts, and the richer the food the better. His rule was a peaceful one, though largely unproductive.

Varys tolerated Robert, but in truth he had loathed him. He had become lazy and fat, yes, but that was not the repulsive part about him. He grew to be a man that closed his eyes to the things which he did not want to see; his neglect of his children, his raping of his wife, He also closed his eyes to the fact that his children were not his own, to the murder of Arryn and then to the Stark girls and their wolves... and that poor butcher's boy.

Ned Stark tried to do good in that rat whole of a city, and Robert near forbade him. It was a damn shame. Stark may not have known how to play the game, but he did not deserve to die. He was a fool at times though; telling Cersei to leave the city and that he planned to expose her secret...he clearly did not know the woman, or that she had killed Robert in the end.

_A whisper in her cousin's ear, in return for a few kisses and passionate whispers...that one herself is a fool, who has low-cunning and is full of bitterness and hatred, but can I fault her? She lost her Prince, and she gained a Robert. He raped her, and he may have denied it the next morning, but my birds saw his face as he spoke...he knew full well what he had done. At times, I wonder who was the bigger monster, Cersei or Robert. At least Cersei showed people what she was, whereas Robert hid behind his smiles and his crown. It is no wonder the boy king turned out as he did._

Then came Joffrey. Varys had noted the boy's manner as he grew, to see what type of king he would make…a temporary king, but a king nonetheless. If Varys intentions went to plan, then the boy would not be king for long…but Varys found that Joffrey was not quite what he seemed.

When he was young, he was mischievous to put it lightly, but he was bolder than any boy his age. The cat incident was...unfortunate. But yet another desperate attempt at gaining the attention of the man he thought his father...and he got it. A hard thump across the face, and that was all the attention that Robert ever gave him. He may have been a sweet boy, but his upbringing ruined him.

Joffrey was entitled, arrogant, cruel and sadistic. A boy of fourteen, and he loved nothing more than punishing small folk and beheading those he deemed "traitors". Varys recalled the boy leading his young betrothed, Sansa Stark, to see her father's head on a pike. The boy had taken a cruel pleasure in that girl's pain, and it pained Varys to see it.

Many took pleasure in the young boy's death. _Murdered at his own wedding, clawing at his throat for breath. And Tyrion to take the blame. Another of Littlefinger's perfectly orchestrated plans._

That was why he had to do it; marry Sansa to Tyrion. To protect the both of them; Sansa from Joffrey, and Tyrion from Shae.

_I told her to go, _he thought. _I told her that Tyrion would become someone important, if she had not been there to mold, distract and corrupt him. Love or nay, she had to leave. And she did. She left his bed, and climbed into his father's. All that came from that was pain and death._

But Tyrion had been sent to Illyrio, and was likely with Aegon now. And Sansa…she was wherever Littlefinger had taken her. Yet another plan that had failed for Varys.

Varys prided himself on knowledge, but even the most knowledgeable of Spiders cannot know everything. He knew people well and rarely misjudged them…but when he did, the consequences were terrible indeed.

It was rather easy to control people, once you knew how. If you wish someone to do something, you need only know who they are. If they were arrogant, tell them that they could not do it. If they were hesitant, trick them into thinking that it was their own idea. Know the person and know what they want, and it is easy indeed to set the pieces in place, to move at your will. Varys knew how that game worked.

_As did Baelish. He knew very well, but he made it common knowledge. _People knew Varys as a mysterious man, who dealt in secrets. You may ask him for a secret…but he would tell you a lie. Everything about Varys was uncertain. But it was common knowledge that Littlefinger was ruthless and cunning, and that you could never trust him nor deny him. He played political games rather well, and he had little enough friends because of it.

_He thinks himself clever. He is intelligent, yes, and capable. But he is selfish and ruthless. He does what he does not for the realm, but for himself. He could not have Lady Stark, and so he orchestrated her husband's execution, the war itself, and he took her daughter. _

Varys was not one so selfish. He did what he did to make the realm a better place; to make the lives of the commoners easier, and to make kings that would do what was right for their subjects. At least that's what he told himself. When kings rose and fell, when armies of men died bloodily and women and babes suffered as a result of his actions…he told himself that it was for the realm, to find one who would take the realm through its sufferings.

_Aegon is one such. He will be a brave and valiant King. We have raised him, shaped him to be so._

But his and Illyrio's plans for Aegon had too gone awry. Viserys had perished, and Daenerys had lived. She had hatched dragons, taken an army, freed slaves, sacked cities and killed warlocks and savages alike. She had become a true Targaryen, and left Illyrio and Varys lost for some time. That was, until, they saw that she would be the perfect Queen for Aegon.

And that was where he was going. To aid his King, and his Queen.

As Varys sailed silently away, he stared at the Red Keep, up high in King's Landing. _There Kevan Lannister lies dead. And when they find him, the pieces will move accordingly. King's Landing will crumble and fall, just like it did the day Aerys let Tywin into the city. I told him not to, I told him that Pycelle was a Lannister catspaw…but he didn't listen. They never do._

The realm was smashed, broken by Varys and many others playing their games. And just so. A realm needs to be broken to be fixed, and a King must fix a realm to be a true King.

As the ship sailed away, further and further, King's Landing could no longer be seen.

_The next time I see that city, the war will be over and the realm united. The common folk will be cheering for the Targaryen girl and her King, and for all the good their new monarchs would do for the Kingdoms... _

Varys and Illyrio would titter to themselves, over the irony of it all. A realm ruled by a Targaryen Queen…and her Blackfyre King. The Blackfyres, who had troubled the Targaryens for so long, who had been defeated on every count, would sit on Aegon's precious Throne and marry his Targaryen descendant. Their children will have Blackfyre blood, and their children's children…and the righteous Targaryens would never know.

_No one_ would ever know who the boy really was, and that was the beauty of it all.

_A/N: I am sorry for the delay. I have been working on a little project that should be on Fanfiction once finished, but for now it's done and I can really focus on this fic. I'll be posting weekly, if not every four or five days. That said, the next chapter is nearly done and will be up within two days, and this time (not the first time I've said it, I know, but trust me this time) I __**really**__ mean it. As always, please review. It is you, the readers that keep me going with this fic and the more reviews I get, the better the story can be and the faster it will be written, motivation always helps. :3_


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